


Held

by meetz



Category: Metal Family (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Minor Violence, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetz/pseuds/meetz
Summary: Dee loses control and Heavy gives it back to him.
Relationships: Dee (Metal Family)/Heavy (Metal Family)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Held

**Author's Note:**

> sprouted from a few convos abt dee getting rough with heavy,,, technically gen but you know... brocon yearning... violencee...

“Dee let me _help_.” And the way he says it, like he can do anything for you. Like Heavy’s got any use beyond being your dumb little brother - your easy stress reliever, a personal plaything made especially for you. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier - easier to hurt him, easier to pretend like there isn’t a matching set of instincts crossing wires in your brain that wants to lick the very same wounds you put there.

Heavy just doesn’t _get_ it. He never will. He’ll never understand what goes on in your head, the sickening need to ruin the things around you for curiosity's sake. The desire to own everything about him, the terrifying urge to learn just how much Heavy can take before he gives under your thumb. 

“You don’t know how.” You don’t mean to sound so pained, so frustrated, but it poisons your tone, lowering it to something sullen and cold - 

Then Heavy’s there, always right there - bright and earnest and _warm_ , clutching your sleeve and looking so fucking determined it scares you, excites the blood in your veins and makes you feel fever bright and volatile. Makes you feel hateful. 

“Then teach me. I - I can figure it out, I’ll listen just _please_ \- I - I get so scared you’re just going to _disappear_!”

It’s like he’s talking to you from leagues away, but you can still see him, right there at your side, giving you so much of himself without realizing you can’t pour anything back into his cup. 

It’s like your parents skipped over you when they were doling out hand me down traits, saving all the best parts of themselves for their little prince of metal, naturally gifted in every way that you aren’t. 

It infuriates you, makes you ill with jealousy. It’s _always_ been Heavy, everyone’s favorite golden child. Dumb as fucking rocks, but charming in a way that you’ll never be. He doesn’t have to deal with any of the bullshit you do, doesn’t have to deal with his mind screaming vitriol at him nonstop. Doesn’t know what it’s like to walk on eggshells around your parents all the time. 

Heavy has no idea what real problems are.

“Every time you get all messed up like this you _never_ let me do anything for you!”

You can’t listen to this anymore, can’t stand him being so good when all you feel is sick. Sick with yourself, with him, how small and insignificant he is and how much he’s taken from you, how much of your life he’s filled with himself. 

“Shut _UP_.”

It’s not your voice anymore. It’s someone else’s, someone bigger and meaner than you, someone who can’t let his brother in, someone who doesn’t want to. You’re growing, shadow lengthening, fists balling up and you hate him you hate him you _hate_ him. 

“Dee -”

“I said shut **_UP_ **!”

The way your fist connects with his flesh is wretched and meaty. It’s a thick sound, dense and devastating and he looks so _hurt_ in that split second between your knuckles connecting and his head whipping to the side that you feel your throat closing up.   
  
It’s a wide, betrayed flash of green, there and gone and so shocked that you could have ever taken it this far, that your too-rough shoves and your sulky moods would ever turn into this: a punch so loaded with intent you’re sure Heavy can taste it on his tongue. 

“You never know what the fuck you’re asking for, you know that?” You snarl, brutality bubbling up in your throat, simmering just under your skin. Your blood feels hot with it, hand stinging with the echo of its kiss with Heavy’s cheek. 

It’s not enough. 

The first bite is always the sweetest, but like a man starved who’s finally been allowed a seat at the table, you no longer know what it is to hold back. 

He brings his hand up to rest on his cheek - frightened, disoriented, trying to focus on you as you surge forward. 

You don’t give him the time to gather himself. You feel like you’re dreaming as you drive your fist into his gut, feeling the give of soft organs as Heavy folds, gasping out a silent caricature of a scream as he goes down. 

He’s so small like that - on his knees, reeling - you aren’t thinking as you hike your knee up, scuffed leather on the bottom of your boot connecting solidly with Heavy’s temple, kicking him into the wall so cleanly that you see the precise moment his vision wavers and goes dark. 

He’s only out for a half second, long enough for him to slump forward, cheek connecting with your carpet with a dull thud. There’s a beat of silence, and then a low broken moan rife with confusion. 

You know what an animal sounds like when it’s in pain, know just the right shade of helpless a creature has to reach to really start wailing for you. Heavy’s not there yet, not even close, but he hasn’t so much as shaped his mouth around the word ‘no’ yet. 

You wonder if he’ll follow you down the rabbit hole. 

You drop down next to him, crouching as you reach for his hair. You slip your fingers into the wild red mess like a glove, fisting at the root and twisting Heavy’s neck back up to face you. 

There’s water. Water in his eyes, water on his cheeks, glossing his cheeks where vibrant purple flowers are already beginning to bloom. You don’t know when he started crying, when he had time to pull in the breath to let his tears spill over. 

Your head feels full of water, your mouth too. Wet and salivating like a beast with the scent of prey freshly caught. You want to tear into him, tear him apart, tear up everything you’ve built between you and use it as kindle for the fire set on consuming you both until there’s nothing left of either of you. 

“I can take it.” His voice is quiet, unprompted. Slurred but steely, like he wants you to be proud of him. Like he wants to be good for you...

You’ve never wanted to ruin something more. 

You need to know if you can put him back together. 

He’s trying to get up, coughing weakly, getting his arms under him and gagging uselessly as he tries to shake your hand out of his hair. He heaves once, then again, and before he can try for a third you’re standing again, careening forward, sole of your boot coming down hard on his back and pressing him back into the ground. 

“Why won’t you stay _down_.” You choke out, fury trickling out of you, delirious with the knowledge that Heavy hasn’t bolted. Why hasn’t he fled yet? Why hasn’t he tried to fight you? Why is he always letting you do whatever the fuck you want to him without consequence? Why does he love you when all you do is push him beyond reasonable and unreasonable limits alike. 

You’re grinding your foot down even as Heavy struggles to rise, shaking against the entire weight of you bearing down on the delicate line of his spine.

You feel unhinged. You feel reckless. 

You feel like if Heavy doesn’t stop you here - now - you won’t be able to stop yourself. 

But then you hear it, something whispered and faint, more of a wheeze than anything, Heavy trying and failing to say something. 

“What?”

You’re leaning in, head cocked, straining to hear him when Heavy lets out a great shuddering breath and finally manages to find his voice. 

“B - Because you need me to get back _up_ ,” Heavy sobs out, voice cracking, so wobbly on his hands and knees he looks just about ready to fall over. 

You stumble back, shoe coming off your baby brother as surprise slackens your jaw.

You don’t know if Heavy understands the weight of his own words, the depth of his perception. There’s just no way he can really, you never bothered to lay it all out for him. Never thought he’d be able to parse through the emotional scraps you’ve given him and come to a conclusion alarmingly dead on. 

He’s panting there on all fours like some dog, hair hanging limp in his face, lip busted, shaking like a _leaf_ and still fighting to get to his feet, attempting to prove he can handle you, everything about you, everything you do to _him_.

You think: There’s no way he’s going to be able to stand.

He’s trying for you, trying harder than he ever has in his life, blood dripping from his mouth, his chin, running down his neck and staining the collar of his shirt. He’s got no playbook for this situation, no way to know what you want from him, when you’re going to let up. He’s following blind and he still hasn’t begged out yet, still holding on. Holding _out_. 

He _trusts_ you. Even when you’re grinding all the best parts of him right into the dirt. Still believes that he can survive anything you do to him, wants to weather the storm of your psyche and come out of it on the other side - preferably with you. 

You don’t realize you're holding your breath until Heavy finally gets one foot under him, then the other - wincing, whimpering, arms held protectively to the soft meat of his belly. You shiver when you think of how it felt connecting with the toe of your boot, the pitiful way he’d retched… the way he still hadn’t asked you to stop...

Something in you is crumbling, shifting, driving you towards him, fingers uncurling as you step forward...

His legs give way as you reach him.

You don’t remember Heavy being this light. You don’t remember his hair being this long. You don’t remember when the sight of your brother begging to be of use to you stopped being annoying and started being the only thing you could obsess over. You don’t remember when you stopped being able to hold back. 

It’s easy to forget sometimes that your parents had done more than just pour everything good and caring and honest into Heavy. They’d also given him to you, a sturdy little thing built to take anything you could throw at it and designed only to love and be loved. 

Heavy fits in your arms easy as he always has, shivering, clinging to you like he’ll collapse if he lets go. You wonder if he realizes you’re holding him back, letting him fall into you, sweeping your arms under him and you’ve grown too, must have with how easy his head slots against your shoulder, nose tucking into your neck.

It’s been a long time since you’ve held him. 

**Author's Note:**

> afterrrrr dee cleans all his wounds assesses the damage calls him a good boy and lets heavy sleep with him that night thank u


End file.
